


Stay Stay Stay

by maniac_pixie_dreamgirl



Series: Red [5]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-04
Updated: 2013-04-04
Packaged: 2017-12-07 10:17:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/747378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maniac_pixie_dreamgirl/pseuds/maniac_pixie_dreamgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh God. Judging by the overly tight hug you just gave me, either you have the hots for me or something bad has happened.”</p><p>Courfeyrac’s expression is enough of an answer. He has never been good at hiding his feelings; he’s way too straightforward and honest to do that.</p><p>“What is it?” Grantaire’s eyes are bottomless now. He looks so scared and Courfeyrac can’t leave him hanging like that; he has to break the news.</p><p>“Enjolras is in the hospital.”</p><p>College AU. Thirteen friends. Five love stories. One cat. (Two now)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay Stay Stay

**Author's Note:**

> This one has a lot of Courfeyrac/Jehan and Combeferre/Eponine in it, so if you don't ship them you can skip a few paragraphs. (But come on, how can you NOT ship them?)

The day after Lamarque’s death, Courfeyrac wakes up to two things - the worst hangover in his life and a gentle tickle under his jaw. He opens his eyes reluctantly and there’s a fiery-red mess of hair scattered all over his chest.

No, no, no, thinks Courfeyrac, his heart a heart a hammer inside his chest. He tries to calm himself and stay silent.

Because it’s Jehan. Jehan is lying in his bed, still asleep. Courfeyrac admires his prominent shoulder blades, freckled arms with scrawny elbows, and the soft curve of nose. He doesn’t need to look under the blanket to know that they are both naked. He knows it, because, as much as he doesn’t want to, he remembers everything that happened yesterday.

❉❉❉

There are tears hanging from Jehan’s thick eyelashes and his trembling mouth. They are sitting in Courfeyrac’s bedroom facing each other, their knees touching and Courfeyrac swears he only wants to wipe the wet drops away, but Jehan is so beautiful with a face straight from Rossetti's paintings and hair redder than the rising sun. So with newfound alcohol-generated courage, he kisses him. The one person he swore not to kiss and the only person he wants to kiss. Jehan’s eyes widen with a sudden surprise and Courfeyrac tries to pull back, regretting his actions, fearing the consequences. But Jehan doesn’t let him; he grabs Courfeyrac by his shirt, pushing him down the bed. The kiss is desperate and messy, their tongues flickering with each other, lips getting swollen. The poet’s mouth tastes of pina colada and swallowed tears, sweet and salty at the same time. They move closer, and Courfeyrac can feel Jehan’s protruding hipbones and oh my god his huge erection rubbing against his jeans. And something inside Courfeyrac snaps - there’s nothing that can stop him now. He grabs Jehan’s lower lip with his teeth and smiles. He’s waited so long for this. So _fucking_ long.

There’s a tiny voice inside Courfeyrac’s head warning him that, they are friends, and he should know better. But right now, with pale hands trying to rip his T-shirt off, Courfeyrac doesn’t care. Right now Jehan’s inviting skin is all that counts, and he will worry about the rest tomorrow.

❉❉❉

As much as he pains him to do that, Courfeyrac blocks the images of last night out. Reliving the best mistake of his life is not a good idea. Especially with a morning hard-on. And with Jehan still fast asleep in his bed.

Slowly moving Jehan’s head onto the pillow, Courfeyrac tiptoes to the bathroom. He has no idea how to act when Jehan wakes up. It terrifies him so much that he starts to hope for his friend to fall into an eternal slumber. It would make things a lot easier.

Facing his reflection, Courfeyrac starts planning everything out. Thinking ahead is not his strongest suit, so his mind revolts against him, throwing the flashes from last night as artillery.

 _Tongue like electric, eyes like a child,_ this line from one of Courfeyrac’s favorite songs pops into his head, describing Jehan perfectly.

The other strangely fitting is _shy on the streets sexy in the sheets_. Courfeyrac blushes vividly, he had no idea, that the flower-picking, mermaid-loving, innocent-eyed, fragile poet is so wild in bed. The things he did last night _oh God…_

The creak of the bed springs startles Courfeyrac - Jehan must be awake by now. Feeling a little bit nervous he brushes his teeth, counting to one hundred in his mind, trying to calm himself down. He’s had one-night stands before, _fuck_ , he is a pro at them, so he knows the protocol. But it’s Jehan - those rules just don’t apply to him.

Realizing he is still naked, Courfeyrac chooses the least stinky T-shirt and shorts from the laundry basket.

Everything will be okay - they are both adults and mature. They will talk about everything and will reach a mutual understanding. At least that’s what Courfeyrac is hoping for.

Winking at his reflection and slapping his face for courage, he steps out from the bathroom. To his disappointment he finds the room empty, with a post-it note stuck to his sock drawer.

 _This guy has some serious ninja skills_ , thinks Courfeyrac, surprised that Jehan could get dressed so quickly and leave without making any sound. He is even more surprised that his friend would do that.

He reads the post-it with a worried look.

I had to go,

sorry,

talk to you later,

xxx Jehan

PS. I borrowed your socks, hope you don’t mind.

Courfeyrac looks inside his drawer and in fact two of his socks are missing- the purple one with kittens and the green one with orange stars. Jehan hates symmetry and never wears matching socks.

“You fool, why didn’t you stay?” sighs Courfeyrac frowning.

Things just got really complicated.

❉❉❉

The doors are open, so Eponine walks in. She just finished her shift at Musain and she is knackered. Customers were especially demanding today. One guy asked her to remake his coffee twelve times.

But she forgets about the tiredness as soon as she steps into the living room - somehow seeing Combeferre in sweatpants eating cereal out of a bowl manages to make her feel a little bit better.

“My, oh my, is that the medical genius Combeferre wasting his time on something as trivial as the TV? What are you watching?” she asks, sitting next to him, with her feet up.

“Top Gear,” answers Combeferre, his mouth full of Rice Krispies.

Eponine starts to laugh so hard that Combeferre shoots her a questioning look.

“I haven’t got you pegged as a car-lover. Which episode is this?”

“You like Top Gear?” Now it’s Combeferre’s turn to be surprised.

“My ex-boyfriend was obsessed with cars, I sometimes watched it with him. So which episode?” She takes her trainers off, making herself comfortable.

“Bolivia Special”

“My favorite. Can I have some of your cereal, I’m starving”

“I can make you another bowl,” offers Combeferre, standing up, but Eponine stops him with her hand.

“Nah, don’t bother, I’d rather share yours. Just let me grab a spoon.”

She comes back with a spoon and two cups of coffee. Tossing her jacket on the floor, she snuggles under the blanket.

They watch in silence for a while and it’s enjoyable, but a sight of the flyers on the table reminds Eponine why she came.

“How is Enjolras doing?”

“Not very good,” answers Combeferre and a wrinkle appears between his eyebrows. “He’s at the police station. Being one of the last people, that have seen Lamarque before he got stabbed, he’s an important figure in the investigation.”

Eponine sighs.

“It’s never easy for him, is it?”

Combeferre shakes his head.

“I worry about him. He hasn’t slept since the murder and he’s not eating. It’s been three days and he acts like nothing happened, talking only about the manifestation. I think he is obsessed with it.”

“More than usually?” she asks, licking the spoon.

“I’m not joking ‘Ponine. It’s not healthy. If he doesn’t stop, it will finish him off.”

“Mind your words, something like that got Grantaire kicked out.” There’s a tone of disapproval in her voice, but it’s not as evident as Combeferre would have expected. She is more worried than annoyed.

“How is he?”

“Exceptionally good, which worries me. He even showed up at work today. And he wasn’t late. Won’t talk to me about that night though.”

“I have a feeling this mess is bigger than it seems. And on the top of that, Jehan’s been acting weird too.”

Eponine rolls her eyes and takes another mouthful of cereal, enjoying the sweetness in her mouth. “What do you mean by weird?”

Combeferre shrugs and looks at the TV. The show is nearly ending.

“I don’t know, he came back from Courfeyrac’s with a weird expression on his face. He hid in his bedroom and didn’t leave for two days, sneaking food into his room the middle of the night. And he’s avoiding Courfeyrac like the plague.”

Eponine smacks her lips and Combeferre lets himself admire them for a while. It feels so natural to be sitting with her in the living room, eating cereal, doing nothing. He could get used to that. He really could.

“It’s a fun house you live in,” she says with a smile.

“Yeah, I think I’m going to die from all the fun I’m having. What’s wrong with your neck?” He asks noticing the way Eponine’s holding her head.

“I’ve been wiping tables all day and it’s as stiff as a dead man. Urgh, we need to stop making those death puns!”

“We can’t help it, it’s subconscious. Do you want me to give you a massage?”

Eponine blinks a few times but nods her head. She puts her long hair in a messy bun, trying to get it out of the way, and turns her back to Combeferre, making it easier for him to reach her neck.

_He’s just being friendly, he’s just trying to help you out._

“I hope you’re good at this,” she says and he just smiles.

“I’ve been told I’ve got mad skills.”

Eponine wants to add something snarky, but Combeferre’s fingers dig into her skin and she just melts. He’s just as excellent at this as he is at everything else, steady, calm and sensitive, but firm on occasion. His hands are pure magic, rubbing perfect circles, removing all the tension from her neck in just a matter of seconds. Eponine closes her eyes, blocking everything out, forgetting about the horrible couple of days she had. For the first time in weeks she isn’t worrying about Gavroche and his school problems, about Grantaire’s excessive drinking, about Enjolras’s projects or even about Cosette and Marius’s love life. Her mind goes to a happy place, where nothing bad is allowed.

This is so relaxing, they should do this more often. Combeferre’s thumbs dive deeper this time and it’s so pleasurable that she lets out a moan.

“A little bit on the left,” she whispers, not noticing that her voice got a little bit husky.

Combeferre is making his way to her shoulders now, so she pulls her shirt down, revealing more skin. It’s not much - just a tiny triangle on the back, but it’s enough to make her realize how fucking bizarre this whole situation is. That’s not how you treat your friends, is it? Combeferre’s breath is hot as lava against her neck and she can’t help but imagine how it would feel if those firm, manly hands were somewhere else right now. Just the thought alone is sending a pleasurable shiver down her spine.

The atmosphere is electrifying, the air heavy with tension. Eponine tries to stop overanalyzing and succumbs willingly to Combeferre’s touch, ready for his hands to go whenever he wants, but they stay solely on her shoulders, making her wonder if it’s just all in her head. Maybe he doesn’t notice how fucking sexy this is. Maybe she is so frustrated that she gets turned on by everything now. Maybe she just needs to get laid soon. There are a few too many maybes for her liking.

There’s dizziness in her head and she knows she can’t stand it any longer. With a heavy sigh she turns her head to face Combeferre, looking at him questioningly with misty eyes. His aren’t moving anymore but still remain on her shoulders. His lips are parted. It’s now or never.

“Do you want to…” Eponine has no idea how to finish that sentence.

And she doesn’t have to, because suddenly Musichetta bursts into the living room, with a panic written all over her face.

“Joly just called me - Enjolras has been admitted to the hospital.”

❉❉❉

It’s up to Courfeyrac to inform Grantaire. The pub is unusually empty, so the black halo of hair is easy to spot. Grantaire is sober-ish, halfway finished with his fourth drink. Courfeyrac dips his hands further into the pockets and walks towards him. He tries to keep the worry out of his face.

Grantaire eyes light up when he sees him.

“Courf! What brings you here in the middle of the week?”

Courfeyrac doesn’t sit down. This is going to be really hard. Trying to act naturally, he smiles back and hugs his friend.

“I need to tell you something,”

Grantaire’s eyes go stone sober in the matter of seconds and Courfeyrac realizes he sounded more serious than he intended.

“Oh God. Judging by the overly tight hug you just gave me, either you have the hots for me or something bad has happened.”

Courfeyrac’s expression is enough of an answer. He has never been good at hiding his feelings; he’s way too straightforward and honest to do that.

“What is it?” Grantaire’s eyes are bottomless now. He looks so scared and Courfeyrac can’t leave him hanging like that; he has to break the news.

“Enjolras is in the hospital.”

Grantaire drops the beer bottle. It bounces off the chair and breaks on the floor. The shreds of glass crunch under his boots as he runs out of the pub.

❉❉❉

The waiting room is filled with voices. Worry, desperation, hope, anxiety, excitement all blended together in a beehive of emotions. Grantaire looks into Joly’s eyes, waiting like a man sentenced to death and waiting for the verdict. The others are there too, biting their nails (Eponine), twirling their hair (Cosette) and walking in circles (Bossuet). The anticipation is the worst. The hospital staff didn’t provide them with any information - they’ve been told they are not Enjolras’ family. But they are - maybe not biologically, but they are. Their friendship is thicker than blood, running deeper than any family roots would. So telling them that they are not Enjolras’ family is blasphemous. Luckily for them, Joly is doing his work experience placement in this hospital, so he manages to get some information. The waiting is over.

“He is fine.” Those three words are stronger than an earthquake.

Grantaire puts a hand over his racing heart and relief fills his eyes with tears. Combeferre lets out a nervous laugh and Grantaire gives him a hug. Out of all of them, they were the most worried ones.

“What happened?” asks Marius. If they were going to be completely calm, they needed some explanation.

“Exhaustion, dehydration and flu with a terrible fever on the top. He passed out in front of the police station.”

“So he is going to be fine?”

“After he gets some sleep. Yes. But they need to keep him here for a few days. He needs some antibiotics and plenty of fluids.”

“Can we see him?”

“In a minute, the nurse is giving him the i.v.now. He’s asleep though”

The atmosphere is more cheerful now - Joly’s words lifted the heaviness from their shoulder. The thought of Enjolras, their friend and leader getting hurt was so terrifying that they’ve been running in circles like a bunch of headless chickens. Now that they know it’s just a flu, they can slip back into their natural behavior.

“I need a drink. Are they allowed to sell alcohol in this hospital?” Grantaire’s has returned to his usual cynical self, with a crooked smile and a spark in his eyes.

“Very funny R. The closest thing to a beer is herbal tea here,” answers Joly.

“Ugh. Then I will replace one poison with another. I’ll go and grab some coffee.”

“I’ll go with you,” offers Jehan, avoiding Courfeyrac eyes.

❉❉❉

The coffee is sloppy and watery, but neither Grantaire nor Jehan complain. They both seem to be lost in their thoughts, walking slowly down the corridor.

“Do you think he’ll want to see me?” Grantaire finally verbalizes the thought that’s been bugging him ever since he found out Enjolras is alright.

“Sure. You’re friends,” answers Jehan matter-of-factly.

But his words are like a cloth, covering the hundreds of unsaid thoughts, hanging in the air, floating between them. They both know that Grantaire’s and Enjolras’ relationship is far more complicated than that.

“Are we really?” Grantaire sits on the nearest chair and buries hands in his hair. “You’re the poet here, so answer me - can a moth be friends with a flame?”

“When one is dying just to get close to the other… it sounds like more than a friendship to me,” says Jehan, taking another sip of the worst coffee on Earth.

“You’re too romantic for your own good, flower-boy.”

“ And you are… wait is there someone making out in the supply closet behind us?” Jehan turns around shooting Grantaire amused look. They both sit in silence trying to distinguish the muffled noises.

“Looks like it - those are definitely the sounds of face-sucking.”

And before anyone can stop them Grantaire and Jehan press ears to the thin door separating corridor and the closet.

_“I’m sorry, it seems like it’s impossible for us to go on the proper date. First it was Lamarque’s death, now it’s the Enjolras thing…”_

_“Oh God Pontmercy, shut up. Less talking, more kissing.”_

The snogging noises return with doubled intensity. Jehan and Grantaire exchange revealing glances.

“Is that...”

“Yeah, let’s not tell Eponine,” Grantaire suppresses the chuckle and steps away from the door.

❉❉❉

Grantaire’s there when Enjolras wakes up. It’s 5am and it’s against all hospital rules, but Joly managed to convince the nurse that making Grantaire leave would have terrible consequences (like Grantaire hurting himself just to be in the same hospital as his friend) so she let him stay under the condition that he be almost invisible. So he tries, sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, watching the golden drops of the IV liquid traveling to Enjolras’ body, listening to the uneven sound of his breathing.

He is so glad that it’s just a flu. It could be so much worse. It could be pneumonia, or a car crash, or _a knife in his back._ Grantaire can’t even think about the last one. If something bad was to happen to Enjolras... Grantaire has no idea how he would cope. Because even if they fight, even if they are mad at each other, Enjolras is the one thing that’s worth waking up for. Grantaire doesn’t believe in God, he doesn’t pray, but thinking about Enjolras straight after waking up and just before falling asleep strangely resembles a prayer.

That’s why, no matter how many times Enjolras will kick him out, he will always come back. His place is in Enjolras’s shadow and he knows that.

So when Enjolras wakes up Grantaire is there, guarding him like a dog.

Terrified and relieved at the same time, he stares into those blue eyes glassy with fever, waiting for the cruel words. When they don’t come he swallows hard and sends his friend a broken smile - an unspoken apology.

“This isn’t your house so you can’t kick me out.” Jokes always come easier than confessions to Grantaire.

 _I was worried about you_ is what he wanted to say.

Enjolras sits up and looks away. He stares into the night for a few minutes, complete silence fluctuating in the air. Grantaire waits patiently, trying to decipher the look in Enjolras’s eyes.

“It wasn’t a dream, he’s really gone isn’t he?” This isn’t really a question, but Grantaire answers anyway.

“Yes, he is.”

“What about the protest?”

“They cancelled it yesterday - the police were too worried about the riots it could start up. Lamarque’s death is too big of a sensation.”

Enjolras’ eyes are empty now and with a face whiter than the hospital sheets he is a shadow of his former self. He’s a broken man and Grantaire feels it. He wants to fix him, to make everything okay, but there’s nothing that can be done now. So instead he whispers.

“I am sorry Enjolras. About everything. About Lamarque, about the protest. About my behavior.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” answers Enjolras, the dark hooves under his eyes almost black now. He doesn’t even look at Grantaire, doesn’t acknowledge the pleading in his eyes.

This is difficult for both of them, the history of countless fights imprinted in their hearts. Every cruel word makes it harder to reconcile, every insult makes it harder to forgive. That’s why they don’t like apologizing, they prefer acting like nothing has happened. It’s became a habit by now, so when Enjolras doesn’t forgive him immediately, Grantaire panics.

“I know you must hate me. I won’t bother you any longer. Get well soon Apollo. Goodnight.”

He stands up from the bed and tries to leave, but Enjolras grabs him by his hand.

“Don’t go,” he whispers almost inaudibly.

He doesn’t add anything else, doesn’t turn to face Grantaire. And if it wasn’t for the hand still over Grantaire’s, for slender fingers wrapped against a bony palm, the drunkard would think he imagined those words. But he didn’t - for the first time, his Apollo needs him. So Grantaire stays.

Enjolras is silent all night, breathing heavily through his mouth. He doesn’t look at Grantaire even once, he doesn’t accept his apology, as if Grantaire isn’t even there. But he is - wiping the cold sweat from Enjolras’s forehead, stroking his damp hair, making sure he’s not too cold, he is the best nurse anyone could have.

And seeing Enjolras in his rare moments of weakness, taking care of him, knowing that for once the almighty Apollo allowed himself to let the guard down makes Grantaire feel chosen. He’s still not sure if they are friends, if they can ever be truly friends. There’s still a part of him that will always be convinced that Enjolras finds him useless, unworthy, repulsive even, but the fact that a few days after kicking him out, Enjolras willingly asked him to stay brings Grantaire hope. Even if it’s just a momentary lapse of judgment on Enjolras’s part, he just treated him like an equal.

❉❉❉

When the moon starts to fade, Grantaire falls asleep half-sitting in the corner of the hospital bed.

Enjolras pulls him closer, making sure neither of them will fall. Grantaire’s mouth is parted, a dream quivering his lips. He looks so innocent now, so angelic - it’s almost unbelievable that this is the man who doesn’t believe in anything.

Enjolras removes the wild curls from Grantaire’s forehead with keenness bordering on affection.

“Stay with me, I don’t want to be alone tonight,” he whispers, only because he knows Grantaire can’t hear him.

When the sun rises they are both asleep, their fingertips touching.

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's been ages since the last time, but the place I've spent my Easter in, didn't have any internet connection.  
> Thanks to my new beta Nyxierose, she is the best.  
> Sorry for all the mistakes.  
> I am really self-conscious about this chapter, something about it bugs me a lot, so sorry if it's atrocious.  
> LOVE YOU ALL xxxx  
> Oh and I've heard about the Aaron's concert ticket selling problem and I know a lot of you are upset. Here's a hug for all of you. You'll see him next time (unlike me- I'm stuck on a different continent).


End file.
